Moonlits secrets of the Alphas curse

ChapterThree

Elara Kane followed Gideon Blackthorn through the heavy oak doors of the Blackthorn Estate, her boots echoing on the polished stone floor. The gothic sprawl loomed around her, its high ceilings and shadowed corridors lit by flickering sconces.

The air smelled of old leather and something ancient, like secrets bound in dust. Her silver dagger, still warm from the fight in the clearing, pressed against her hip, a reminder of the impossible truth: werewolves were real, and she was tied to one.

Gideon led her to a library, its shelves towering with books that looked older than the town itself. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows that danced like ghosts.

Elara clutched the blanket he’d draped over her shoulders, her mind a storm of questions. The warmth in her chest—the bond Gideon had called it—pulsed faintly,stronger when he was near. She hated how it anchored her, how it made her want to stay.

“Sit,” Gideon said, his voice low but not unkind. He leaned against a desk, his amber eyes studying her. A woman entered, sharp-featured with a braid of dark hair, her gaze wary but not hostile. “This is Lila, my beta,” Gideon said. “She’ll help explain.”

Lila nodded, crossing her arms. “You’re trouble, new girl, but you held your own out there. Respect for that.” Elara managed a tight smile. “Thanks, I guess. Now someone tell me what’s going on.”

Gideon’s jaw tightened, and he began. “The curse started a century ago. My ancestor,Elias Blackthorn, loved a witch named Seraphine from the Hollow Coven. They were powerful, shunned by humans and wolves alike. Elias betrayed her, allying with the Nightclaw Pack to seize their territory. In revenge, Seraphine cursed the Silverfang alphas—me included. Every full moon, I turn feral, lose control. The pack suffers, and Silver Hollow pays in blood.”

Elara’s throat tightened. “And me? Why am I caught up in this?”

“You’re my fated mate,” Gideon said, his voice softening. “A soul-link, rare even among werewolves. You can break the curse, but claiming you—marking you as mine—would spark war with the Nightclaws. They believe the curse keeps us weak, gives them power.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “So I’m a target because of some cosmic thread? I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I,” Gideon said, stepping closer. The bond flared, a heat that made her skin tingle. “But I felt you the moment you arrived. Your scent, your presence—it’s been tearing me apart.”

Elara’s cheeks burned, and she looked away, focusing on the bookshelves. A leather-bound journal caught her eye, its cover etched with the same runes as her dagger. She reached for it, ignoring Gideon’s warning glance. The pages were brittle, inked in a flowing script. Seraphine’s journal, she realized, her pulse quickening. It detailed a ritual in the Moonlit Glade: the alpha’s blood, the mate’s will, and an enchanted blade—her dagger.

“This is it,” she said, holding it up. “The way to break the curse.”Gideon’s eyes widened. “It’s not that simple. The ritual draws magic. The Nightclaws will sense it.”

“Then we fight,” Elara said, her voice steadier than she felt. Lila raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“There’s more,” Gideon said, his tone heavy. “Your dagger—it’s Seraphine’s work.Your mother wasn’t just human. She was a descendant of the Hollow Coven. That’s why you’re my mate.”

Elara’s world tilted. Her mother, who’d died when she was ten, had never spoken of witches or curses. But the dagger, the dreams of wolves—it all clicked. “She knew,”

Elara whispered, clutching the journal. “She left me the dagger for this.”

Lila broke the silence. “We’ve got bigger problems. Scouts reported Nightclaws circling the estate. They’re not waiting for the full moon.”

Gideon’s face darkened. “They know you’re here, Elara. They’ll come for you.”The bond pulsed, urging her closer to him, but fear kept her rooted. She wasn’t ready for this—werewolves, witches, a war she didn’t choose. But the dagger in her hand felt alive, and Gideon’s eyes held a promise she couldn’t ignore. Outside, a distant howl pierced the night, closer than before. The estate’s walls felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.